


The Blanket's Paint.

by Jotillidie



Category: Original Work
Genre: Friendship/Love, LGBTQ Themes, Queer Friendly, Queer Themes, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-18 08:07:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8155124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jotillidie/pseuds/Jotillidie
Summary: This is a short story of ten parts, themed LGBTQ+. It's text interspersed with very little poetry.





	1. Prologue_Lacrimoso.

**Author's Note:**

> The prologue is styled like a chorus or refrain; the story kicks off in the first chapter. Please feel free to comment and share your thoughts!

 

A boy lived. With friends and with family. With hope and prosperity. With love and with protection. When a boy ceased to be, all of his dreams ceased to be. The entity continued to be; its dreams dreamless, abandoned, heartbroken. 

 

Two orphans lived.  A boy and a girl. She was strong within, he was strong without. At birth they were abandoned, intertwined, but their bond was perhaps ephemeral. Lasting together, fighting together, until he cracked. An abyss portents, he needs some help. She feels blinded, forgotten, spent. Divided they fall?

 

An old man lives even now; from whom heaven took and forsook. An empty house white stillborn cries. Feminal love, dead and dried. Worldly fame. Money, critically supine. Heart beaming full of love—restricted by a Wry, public, curtailing Whine.

 

A man and a woman, crimson spun. She feels the need, pretty amorata. He's a grown up child; he teaches and runs. Fulfilled in null—his tears soothe her just fine. She fears to see and fears to climb; he's there for her, supporting every seldom flight! And motherly caresses, in needs of time, she knows he bleeds, in spring and rhyme. 

 


	2. Infoundedred.

Joe unlocked the door with her key, and stepped inside. It had been a good day. School had gone well, and work had gone better. She had a feeling she would get a raise this month, and then she would have enough money for an apartment of her own. The thought made her look around. Rank was clearly not home yet. She doubted he would be home for a few hours yet. Good. She collapsed on the sofa and freed her arms from the straps of her heavy bag. Her school books she usually kept in her locker, but she had a test tomorrow which was quite important. Especially if she decided to take the USE. In the morning her teacher had asked who would be taking it the year after next. Half the class had put up their hands. Her teacher had grinned. "I'll ask this again six months from now." He had said teasingly, then added, "Whoever wants to take it should study really hard for the test tomorrow, rebyata."

He had given her the workbook after the lecture. "Study from this." He said quietly, patting her head. Her thanks had been as effusive as always. She would never have survived the first year of secondary school if not for Mr. Anatoly. He always went out of the way to do things for her, and some of the girls in the class hated her for that. She wished she could tell them all that she didn't care for Mr. Anatoly that way. Not at all. She could not. But she didn't want to give anyone any more reasons to hate her. They already scorned her for being older than them. Sometimes she failed to understand how they could think she had voluntarily begun secondary school two years late.

Work had been better in the sense that Mr. Bogdan had let her leave early when she told him embarrassedly that she had an exam on the next day. However he had also given her a very pointed look. She knew she could have asked him for the day off, and he would not have cut her pay. He didn't say it, but the look said it all. She put the slices of brown bread near the stove and sighed. Frank Bogdan was the owner of the cafe where she worked. Sometimes he looked at her weirdly, but he was really old and very kind to her always. She put the pan on the stove, but hesitated before lighting it. She was home for dinner so infrequently that Rank usually ate outside. She was generally at the cafe till ten or ten thirty. She decided to cook after he came home, after checking that he had not already eaten. Anyway, she needed to finish a large chunk of revision before he came home; it was improbable she would get any studying done later.

She grabbed a banana and her bag. The apartment was not small; there was a separate hall and kitchen, and two bedrooms. Her bedroom was the one with the adjoining toilet; Rank had let her have it in a fit of gallantry he had regretted later. He had had the right to choose; he was the one who paid the rent, after all.

She entered the room quite apprehensively. She turned to the desk first of all, as usual. A paper lay sleeping on the board, covered with newspaper halfway. The desk had been hastily cleaned, and she could still the wetness on it, and red where the lamination had come off and the paint had soaked into the wood. She leant to touch the desk and smell her finger. She smelled no paint. The tube of red watercolour she had bought last week still looked quite full. There was a dull black smear on it she presumed was charcoal. She lifted the board before she realized she didn't want to look at the painting just yet, and she kept it back down carefully. The blanket stirred in its bed, and she sat down quietly next to it. It stilled at once. The presence of someone in the room was enough to send it back to sleep at once. It slept, motionless. She grinned. Getting back up, she went to the desk and drew the newspaper off the paper. Pale red, dark red, burnt red and red red stared up at her. It was a bag; a U shaped pliant bag with a scarf draped around one side of the strap. There was a rectangular accent, the white of the paper left skilfully to form the letter B on it. The bag was sitting on what she thought was a fluffy red cloud. The paper looked tired though, straining under the weight of the watery paint.

The blanket stirred behind her and she covered its painting with the newspaper. She climbed onto the bed again. The blanket was still once more, but now she fancied it was waiting. She lay on the bed and put an arm over it, and it snuggled closer immediately. She had never really understood how red life was until she met the blanket.

 

never break free you die

insidious they say

deciduous you are

to grow form new you

try but never are

 

The door banged open, and the blanket jumped. Joe smiled reassuringly, putting her textbook aside. Her banana had disappeared and she gave the blanket a look. "That was mine. I was going to feed you in another ten minutes." She shook her head and got off the bed. Then she remembered she had been sitting there on the bed for almost three hours reading her notes, and the blanket had not eaten anything all day. "Sorry. I'll get you something more to eat in a while."

She opened the door and went outside. Her revision was done; there was just this one important lesson left that she had never studied before. "Rank?" She asked, and the man leaning over the sofa turned to face her. He was young and tall, wearing a long grey shirt. His shirt was soaked with sweat under his armpits, and his nose was swollen. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, of course." He stumbled forward and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and his lips touched her neck for a moment.

She took a sickly sweet breath but decided not to comment. "Are you hungry?"

"Yeah." His hands slipped down to hold her waist for a minute. "So hungry."

She stepped away and went to the kitchen, trembling slightly. She put some bread on the pan and took out some boiled beets. "Soup alright with you?"

There was no answer. Turning she saw him leaning against the wall. "What did you do today?" He leered.

"School, work." She answered dispassionately, slicing the beetroot with anxious fingers.

"I made lots of money today." He hoisted himself up on the platform. "A lot of money."

"That's good."

"You want me to give you some of it?"

"No." She said quietly, stirring furiously.

"I could if you wanted."

She looked over at him for a moment; residue of a man. "No."

"No? You still think it's tainted? Who do you think pays your school fees?" He jumped off the platform so fast she flinched. Her retreating step was involuntary, and he grabbed her arms and shook her.

"I don't think it's tainted. I don't need it." She said quickly.

He was trembling suddenly. "You love me, right, Joe?"

"Yeah. Of course." When he tried to burrow into her, she raised her arms and let him. After dinner when he tried to stop her from going to her bedroom, she was quite calm when she told him she had an exam. Inside she told the blanket, "Tomorrow...be ready. We're getting away from here."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can also find this story on Wattpad, where it's the exactly the same but looks more [ pretty.](https://www.wattpad.com/story/79249574-the-blanket%27s-paint) (I put the hyperlink inside 'pretty', how cool is that?)


	3. Inpatinasofrose.

The blanket lay on the bed. The bed had yellow sheets, stained and faded. The blanket stretched, one small part of it resting on a pillow. The pillow was green. It was clean, not a single stain on it. It was new. She had got the new pillowcase for the blanket. The last one had been soaked with the blanket's paint. The blanket had not wanted the new pillowcase. The old one had been beautiful, especially once it had dried and caked with dull brown. The hint of the musty odour had been there already, that beautiful stale smell. The new one was green and clean; the cloth was thick. She had spent good money to get it for the blanket.

She had taken off the old pillowcase. The blanket loved her for putting it in her lap, not throwing it on the floor. The blanket always loved her. Her hand trailed down the pillow after she'd dressed it, and the blanket knew she wanted it. The blanket wanted her to keep it. The next day when the blanket knew she had gone out, it went outside carefully. It walked over to where she slept and kept it there on top of the properly folded duvet. That had been when they had still lived on house in the slum with Rank. The blanket hated Rank. The blanket hated itself. When she had brought the blanket to her home, she had put it in her bed. Her room had a lock. She was going to sleep on the floor, but then somehow she knew it slept alone. She slept outside after that, in the hall and when Rank came home at night, he bothered her. The blanket heard her whimpering and never stopped making paint.

The blanket could count nights. They only stayed there for nine paintings. When they had to leave, she put the blanket in a big wheeled suitcase and dragged it. It hated the suitcase; it was broken and poky, but it loved Joe for never asking it to walk.

In the new apartment, after every few days, the blanket heard voices outside, talking with her, asking for money. But they never came at night, and they always went away soon, so it was never scared. They did not speak Joe's name. They called her Tess.

The blanket knew her name. It was the first thing she had ever said to it. "My name is Joe." The blanket had never spoken to her. It said her name sometimes when it was alone. "Joe." The blanket talked to her in the middle of the day, when she was not there to hear. "I..." The blanket loved her. "Joe." The blanket thought it was really weird that a woman like Joe could have a name like Joe. She was beautiful, so feminine, so beautiful in her femininity, and for her to have a name so undecided—Joe? It loved its Joe.

She had not told the blanket, but it knew she had a job. She wore a white dress everyday, like a schoolgirl. She brought it some clothes once, put the folded things on the cupboard in its room. The blanket didn't wear them. She did not care. She hugged it as usual, and the blanket loved her. She bought it paints as well, all red. Watercolours and acrylic and oil. The blanket used them a little for her, but it already had its paint.

 

flowing listlessly

unseeing systematically.

Proper boxes folded up

cleanlucid. freezing Some

underneath, under.there.

pressing making prisoning

making it go like that.

it feels aglow like that

underfed, follow like that ?

 

Joe entered the room apprehensively. To her surprise, the desk was clear. "No painting?" She asked the room, and the room heard her. The desk was wet though, and she shook her head. "I want to see it." Going over to the bed, she poked the blanket playfully, and it shifted closer to the wall, giving her space to sit. She perched on the edge of the bed, and waited. When she realized she was not going to get to see last night's painting, she scowled and lifted her bag into her lap. The blanket sat up a little, curiously. She took out the pirozhki which Mr Bogdan had given her. She put it on the bed beside the blanket. "It's stale, but it's got mushroom in it." She lay back on the bed, wishing she could see the blanket gape at the treat. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

A small dark hand stole out from under the blanket and with a finger rolled the bun in her direction. She rolled onto her side and took a small bite. Then she put it back on the bed and the hand took it inside. That was the only part of the blanket she had ever seen. She could hear it chewing slowly inside. She had never heard its voice, either. Sometimes when was restless, she wriggled down to put her arms around the blanket's waist, and it mothered her. Joe could always feel its body directly under the blanket. She had left clothes for it, but it had never worn them. For a long time she had thought that was because it was attached to its clothes, like it was to its blanket. She had left it a blanket once, as well. It had been the biggest blanket she could afford, but it had obviously still been too small. She had been able to return it, fortunately. Sometimes when it slept in her arms and the wetness dampened the air, she could see its shape, small and slight. And sometimes, when it cuddled tight enough, she felt its small, soft breasts against her own. But Joe never did more than hold her blanket. She knew she never could. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Those things in the middle are called hazies (sing. hazy).


	4. Inforbiddingdoorsets.

Joe was like a reed, not too tall, but extremely thin. Her fingers were the same, and her hair, too, coming down to her shoulders in reluctant waves. It was the colour of straw, and sometimes when she pushed it up and tied it with a ribbon, it looked exactly like she was wearing a sombrero. Her face was beautiful, wasted in this company. They tried to grab her waist and they groped her ass, but they never appreciated how beautiful her face was. Frank saw. Frank noticed everything about her.

Frank's hair had started turning white when he was only forty. He always dyed it black however, not wanting anyone to know he was ageing. Becoming a stupid old man. But he had stopped dyeing it since he met her. Frank knew intuitively she was comfortable with him because of his age. He knew that she had no one in her life she could rely on, trust completely. Frank wanted so much to be that guy. He knew that the only way that could happen was if he played the concerned fatherly figure he was sick of playing. But for Joe, Frank could do anything.

A year or two ago, when she had just started working, and he had felt something for her, something stir inside his heart, he had asked her if she liked waitressing. It was just something to say, to get the conversation started, but she had flushed and looked quite distressed. "No, but—but I'll work hard." She had promised earnestly. And she had, really. Soon she was working more than any other person in the cafe and he took a great deal of precaution to make sure she was not bullied by the other, older workers in the cafe. She was earning more than any of them, because she was working the most time—till late in the night. 

He had tried asking her if she wanted a lift home. That had made her even more flustered. "No. Thank you. I can go by myself." She had said, scuttling away from him, into the night. 

He had not taken long to get an idea about her background. Her clothes were usually old and faded; she always took the bus. She never had a packed lunch with her, and she never turned down the offer to work extra time. Frank had forced her to take a lift from him once when he had kept her at the cafe till twelve, and realized she lived in one of the cheapest and shadiest neighbourhoods in the city. She had not spoken to him for a week after he found that out, probably expecting him to treat her different. When she realized he was not going to judge her, her manner towards him changed. It was subtle, the change, volunteering a question about his day, asking about his family, his health. Frank told her everything she asked. His wife was dead; he had no children. He lived alone; he had quite a lot of money. He ran the cafe for something to do, while he was still capable of work. Then one beautiful day she had stopped calling him Mr. Bogdan. A week later, when he asked about her day, she told him about her school. "I'm hoping to give the USE next year." She said.

"Planning to do medicine?" He asked seriously.

She paused for a moment. Then she said ashamedly, "I don't know. But I'm not going to be poor." The determination in her eyes was impossible to miss, however, and Frank did not laugh at her for the childish desire. Instead he had got her a pamphlet detailing the possible career opportunities after appearing for USE. She had hugged him when he handed it to her, but stepped back before he could place his arms around her small, wiry body. Frank could still smell her indelicate scent—ink, sweat, grime.

Frank had taken to giving her something or the other from the cafe when they shut it down together in the evening. Frank used to stay back alone after everyone to bar the door with the iron grill, but she had insisted she could wait for half an hour to do it for him, so he would not strain his back. Frank did not protest. It gave her some time alone with her. She pretended to put it in her bag; she always said she would eat it later. But somehow Frank looked at her and he knew she would start eating the moment she was alone. Frank knew what hunger looked like.

Frank looked at his watch. And Frank waited for his day to start.

 

see see what could be

a swimming (gown) in lawn

a ripping sound in throng

she saw she heard she came

none, they heard but craved

none, what was she to do?

see? see what could be?

 

In the blanket's dreams there was never any red. When it woke up gasping, it craved red. In its dreams it saw old people and new people and open spaces and eyes and clean smells. 

Its new room had curtains. They had already been there when they moved in, thick and dark, fading in places to a feeble brown. It had fallen in love with them at first sight, and when it realized Joe was going to take them off, it grabbed her hand and thought very hard about speaking. 

Somehow she had heard. "You love the old, dirty, smelly curtains." She said, making a face at the blanket. It had waited breathlessly for a moment before she shook her head resignedly and patted its head. "Fine. Just don't blame me when you wake up to find rats cuddling with you." She said with a laugh. She had been in a gay mood that day, after leaving Rank.

The blanket had sneakily managed to read her goodbye note. It said, "This will be hot if you get in when you said you would. I do not wish to hate you, Rank, and since I am sure it will happen if I stay with you another night, I'm moving out. It's not permanent. When we meet again, I hope I will meet my beloved brother, not you. You—don't worry about me. Don't look for me. Don't drink the kompot. It is for him. I have left it for him. Don't let it spoil."

The blanket was glad for her, though Joe's bedroom had been smaller and darker. It had never loved open spaces. It had never even been comfortable in the big classrooms of the school it had gone to. To calm down it used to go and shut itself up in the bathrooms between lectures. And of course once the thing had started to happen, then it had started more and more to stay inside; had tried to never go out, to never be seen in public. But the point had finally come when its parents had realized, and then its father threw it out.

But it had Joe now. And it thought living with Joe was amazing. Even though it did not speak with her. It wanted to talk to her. It craved to open its stupid mouth and speak with its ugly voice when Joe looked at its paintings. She looked at them exactly right, judging but not judging, but it always wished she would say something. It really just wanted to know if they spoke to her. Or if they were silent as well. Just like it. 

 


	5. Insanguineseaweed.

 

Rank fisted his hand carefully over the shot glass until he was sure it was invisible from each and every angle. Spriz was his favourite bartender in his favourite bar. She did not like him very much, though. Rank watched her from behind as she talked to one of her regulars and made him his regular drink. Rank was her regular as well, and he always had shots, but she was ignoring him, darting away to take someone else's order before he could speak to her. Rank stared at her for a while, then he set his shot glass down on the bar and stared at it. When he heard footsteps approach, he looked up at once. It was not Spriz. It was a waitress. He hated the waitresses in bars. "I want another shot." He told her reluctantly.

A minute later, a shot glass was slammed down in front of him. He did not need to see the fake emerald on the ring finger to know that it was Spriz. He looked at the vodka she had spilled on the bar, then stared at her hand as she indicated her impatience by tapping the bar with the nail of her forefinger—several times in rapid succession. Rank looked at her displeased face, and he shrunk a little inside. Swallowing a little air, he said pleadingly, "My sister left me. She went away and left me all alone and she is staying all alone as well."

Spriz narrowed her eyes at him, and Rank could hear her internal lie detector click on. After a moment, she nodded. "Why aren't you out looking for her?"

Rank edged his hand out, took possession of his shot, and downed it hastily. "She asked me not to." He said sadly. "Can I have another one, please?"

"She asked you not to? That's bullshit. And maybe you're really sad, Rank, but it's not like you're not here every other day, always really sad. I don't understand—"

Rank clenched the edge of the bar with his clammy hands and watched them tremble. He knew Spriz would stop talking the moment he lost eye contact with her, but he could not help looking away from her disappointed eyes. His shoulders twitched. "I care. About her." He told his hands. "One last shot. Please." After a few moments, he looked up and smirked, and Spriz watched him beg with his bloodshot eyes before she sighed. "Last one." Before she could change her mind, Rank handed her the money. 

He gathered all his empty glasses and started fussing with them. A small castle made with his seven shot glasses stood on the table before she came back with his eighth. "This is the absolutely last one." She said warningly.

Rank grabbed it, poured it down his throat. Then he said quietly, "Yes. I don't have any more money, anyway." He licked at the inside of the glass before balancing it on the tower. Four shot glass were now piled on top of each other, and they were the tower. And two each were standing guard on each side. The blue one was at the base of the tower. If he had a camera, he would have taken a photo of it. But he had no one to show it to, anyway. Joe was gone. And even if she had been there, he could not have shown her the shot glass castle. Then she would have known about his drinking. He had never wanted her to know about those kind of things. He had tried to protect her, and he had failed. And now she really had no one. "Spriz, do you like my shot glass castle?" He looked up at the bartender. Her face was suffused with anger. The moment she knew she had his attention, she snarled, "You told me you made enough money for you to last a fucking year, Rank. You told me on Tuesday you were going to be careful with it. Where is that money now, Rank?"

The trembling had spread. "Don't you like my shot glass castle, Spriz?"

"Fuck your fucking castle!" She grabbed his tower roughly and shoved the glasses into the big front pocket of her apron.

He looked at her in shock, distressed and helpless. "I had to pay the detective." He said in a small voice, putting his arms around his sentries before she ravaged them as well.

She shook her head in frustration. "What?"

"My sister." He said, hurt. "I told you."

"You're looking..."

Rank was suddenly impatient as well. "I'm not, but the detective is. He's a private investigator and he is going to find her. He is likely to find her. More likely than anyone else. She told me not to look for her. So I'm not going to. But damned if I'm going to let her stay alone and put her life in danger." He said shrilly.

"How much money did you pay him, Rank?" Spriz questioned, her voice gentle for once. Rank warmed to her again. "Some. I put the rest in the bank. I put it in her account. If she sees it, she may..."

"Feel grateful and come back?"

He made a face. "She'll probably be mad and try to return it. But I have no account so that will be hard. I'm hoping she'll come and try to return it personally."

Spriz stared at him for a while, then dragged a stool and sat down, across the bar. He looked at her suspiciously. She said hesitantly, "Rank, sweetheart—"

He snorted sadly and she sighed. "Rank," She began again, serious once more, "you know she probably left because of the drinking and the drugs? It must have scared her—"

Rank interrupted brusquely, "Stopped doing drugs. From yesterday. From tomorrow, going to stop drinking." He noticed Spriz was staring at him open-mouthed, and he frowned. "Easy for me. It's the drinking and the drugs and fake junkie friends versus Joe. It's that simple. It will be easy. That was my last shot. She left the kompot. I'm going to drink her kompot."

 

alphabetically one sees

a crowded array

I beg to differ when

at random; try, agree

when in tandem.

but failing to confer!

make enough sense to

try and decipher?

 

Joe sighed and rolled on to her other side. She had thought when she moved in here that she would finally be able to get some sleep. Apparently not. She had gone to see if the blanket was asleep and found the door locked. Now she felt so bitter and lonely. She had rarely ever felt lonely despite growing up in an orphanage, till a year ago, when Rank had developed his habit. He had always been there before that—always been there for her. When he had been kicked out of the orphanage, she had followed him out in blind, blind faith. They had starved on the streets for many days before Rank helped a man load his truck, and the man gave him a pat on the head and twenty roubles. They begged a woman at a cafe to let them eat something for that pittance, and she put a bowl of kasha between them. They had shared it hungrily, and kasha was no longer the sludge they were given at the orphanage. She had made kasha when they moved into their first apartment and also when they moved into the bigger one. And she had made him a bowl before leaving him for good. Put it on the table, on top of the note so he would not miss either. Poor...kasha.

Joe curled into a ball, her eyes watering. She wished someone would come and hold her. After another hour of lying on the sofa with her shoulders pressed against her ears, she went down into the hall with a coin and called Frank Bogdan from the payphone.

 


	6. Intrenchantpenchants.

Frank was in bed, reading. As he grew older, he had felt more tired at the end of the day. But sleep started coming less and less, and now he was tired in the mornings as well. His phone rang, and he reached for the watch lying on his bedside table. Two thirty. He took off his spectacles and kept them beside the watch. "Hello?"

"Mr. Bogdan—Frank?" A woman's voice asked uncertainly. It sounded like Joe, but Frank decided he was being bullish. "This is he. May I know who's speaking?"

"Frank, it's Joe. I work—"

Frank laughed. "I remember who you are. Did something happen?"

"No..." Her voice was trembling a little, and Frank waited patiently. "It's nothing, actually. I don't even know what to say. I'm sorry I woke you up, I think I should go—"

"You didn't wake me up." Frank said gently. "I was reading Chekhov. Have you read any of his short stories?"

"Yeah..." To his surprise, she chuckled a little. "Do you know my surname?"

Frank thought for a minute but failed to remember. He could not believe himself. "No, what is it?"

"Well...You know people found Rank and I and brought us to the orphanage? Our wet-nurse is the first person I remember—she called us Rank and Joe. But no one troubled to find a surname for us; there were no documents either, obviously. A female donor to the orphanage asked me my surname when I was twelve and I just said 'Gogol'. Rank thought it was funny, and it stuck. It's on my propiska now. Rank uses it as well. I have always been a big fan of Gogol. _It is no use to blame the looking glass if your face is awry._ "

Frank smiled. "Your face is not awry."

"I love that word so much. Awry."

" _Always think of what is useful and not what is beautiful. Beauty will come of its own accord._ Beauty has come to you, Joe. It could not help but come."

"You read Gogol." Joe said, and Frank thought her voice sounded less despondent now. "Yes. I do. He is so passionate."

" _Countless as the sands of the sea are human passions_." Joe recited quietly.

"Yes." Frank said. His heart would rather love a different quote, after blowing it tenderly out of context. _But what is this inscrutable, mysterious force that draws me to you?_

"I haven't read much Chekhov. Our school library doesn't have any. Isn't that pathetic?"

Frank laughed despite himself. "Yes. That is extremely pathetic. I have all of his works. You can read all of them one by one."

Joe's voice was suffused with delight. "Oh yes! Thank you!"

Frank took a breath, then said impulsively, "If you would like to visit my house during the weekend, I would love to show you all my books." He held his breath as he waited for Joe to respond. It was several seconds before she whispered, "Frank I have to go, these guys staring at me. I would love to come to your house—"

"Where are you calling from?" Frank broke in hastily, terrified.

"Just the hall in the building where I live. Near the stairs."

Frank exhaled in relief. "Go home, quickly." He told Joe sternly.

"Yes." She giggled. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight." The telephone clicked in his ear. Frank put the phone down, a silly grin on his face for the first time in ten years. 

 

Impossible to hear

Inside they deafen her

Wonder if volume

Would have made a difference?

The censure is built

But only

in answer to gratification

The warmth building the agony

The fall of the phallus, you know?

 

The blanket was not asleep. It had heard Joe try its door, and then it could not sleep. It had heard her open and close the green door quietly. It was really late. The blanket shivered. Where was she, where had she gone? It knew that if she ever ran out of money and had to leave the house she would take it with her. So it did not even consider that possibility. But what if someone wanted her to go live with them? Someone nice, not like Rank. She had been staying with Rank for protection, though he hurt her. She could not live alone for too much time, and if someone offered who was really nice and interested in her, then she would not want baggage and complications. She would leave the blanket behind, and then what would it do? It could not live by itself anymore. It could not live without her anymore. The green door clicked and it relaxed. It decided to unlock the door of its bedroom before going to the bed and wrapping itself up carefully. It knew she must never see. It loved her more than itself, but she must never see. The blanket moved sideways, facing the door, waiting.

But no one came. Something clanged outside, and the blanket tensed, waiting for her to call out that she was alright. Instead, another muffled sound came. The blanket climbed out of bed, trembling, and tiptoed over to the door. It put its ear to the door and could hear more odd noises. Scuffling noises. The door to the bedroom was at the end of a small pathway, where there was another door. The blanket opened the door nervously and looked out. The second door happened to be closed as well, and the blanket breathed in and out before waddling to the white door. 

The blanket was shaking with fear and could barely remember what was outside. Next to the door that he was leaning against now was another door, the one to the bathroom. And to the left the kitchen platform started and the sink and gas cylinder. On the right after the bathroom door there was a couch and then the main door was across. The blanket pulled the door toward itself, opening it a little, and nearly cried out. There were three men in the room, and two of them had Joe on the floor; one of them had their hand around her mouth. Her eyes were open—and she was staring right at it. Her eyes were wide with agony and pleading in them, and something twisted deep down in the blanket's heart. There was a heartless moment where she looked at it and hoped and prayed and inadvertently she begged it—for the first time—to do something for her. And it looked back at her, and she could not see it, she could not feel it, but she knew. And it knew exactly when she knew, when the plea in her eye turned into panic and the blanket smelled rot deep inside itself. And then the moment was over. The blanket saw the rage and the pain of betrayal in her eyes before she twisted and bit at the hand over her mouth, bit it so hard that the man cursed and shifted. She screamed, struggling with a will. Her scream cut at the blanket like anything, it felt her voice echoing around the room, swirling around them, poisonous, ruthless.

The blanket found itself leaning against the door. It closed, and the blanket slid down slowly until it was still on the floor. There was a crack and a whimper from outside, and the blanket put its hands over its ears, shaking and crying. It heard her scream again like she was _within_ it, and it crawled away from her voice before she took away everything that helped it survive.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find this story looking more [pretty](https://www.wattpad.com/290321562-the-blanket%27s-paint-intrenchantpenchants) on Wattpad.


	7. Inavirulentgyre.

The men did not leave the house without what they came for. They left Joe crying, cursing and bloody. She touched herself and cried out with pain and anger. She held her hand in front of her face; there was blood on her index finger. Then she touched herself again, tears streaming down her face. Shock ran through her, and she swivelled around to look at the door. Suddenly she was crawling desperately towards it. The walls of perception had shrunk, the equity that came with that—that latch had to be latched; that door had to be locked. She could not breathe as she struggled with the latch. Somehow she was standing and pushing at it, and somehow she was not crying. When the latch clicked, she straightened up. Turning, she rested her back against the door—the splodges of blood on the floor. Her hand moved to her hair. The hair tie was on the verge of falling off, and she tied up her hair up again. When she looked at her hand again, the blood had disappeared off the index finger, lost in her hair somewhere. Her hand slunk down to find proof of her devastation. It showed her loss; flaunted their spoils. Her poor stockings. Joe's eyes flickered to the white door. Hope. It should really be a sin to hope.

As she stepped away, her legs gave away and she stumbled to the floor. She crawled to the couch and pushed herself up into it. She had thought when she found the blanket only to help it. 

It had been dark. She had ducked behind a huge dustbin so a couple of punks smoking near the entrance of the metro would not see her, and hence not bother her. When she saw it for the first time, all she could make out was a dark shape. It was taken a while for her eyes to adjust and see a person huddled in a dark blanket, covered completely with it. The child had been cowering against the far side. She had felt its fear; hated the taste of it in the air. In her hand was clasped a stale piece of bread with sour cream that Mr. Bogdan had given her that day. She had crouched and tossed it gingerly toward the blanket. Hands had gripped the bread through the material itself. She had been unsure what to do or say, so when those punks left, she had just turned and left. The next day, she had gone back there, taken it firmly around the waist, and then home with her.

The blanket had not protested at all. Like she had known its fear, it had known her intent. It was only to help. But hope had put inside her the irrational notion that it would help her in return. And she had needed to be helped; she had needed help so desperately a while ago. She had needed to be rescued. A whimper slipped out of her mouth as she felt what the men had broken. She wondered whether she would need a doctor. And then her body was shaking, and she needed to be held. Blood ran down her right leg as she walked to her room. The blanket was nowhere to be seen in the room. She had taken a step toward the bathroom before she heard a stifled sob from the bed. She went over the bed and knelt. The blanket was curled up in a ball under the bed, shaking. She tried to feel something. "They have gone away." She said. "Come on out."

The blanket did not as much as react.

She reached out for it, and it cowered away from her hand. A sudden flare of anger went through her. "What are you scared of now?" What the fuck was it scared of now? Her hand closed around the blanket—probably its arm, and she pulled it out. It did not struggle. She didn't know what to do with it after she had it out. "They raped me." She whispered to it.

The blanket began to sob like a child, trying to shake her hand off its arm.

"What are _you_ crying for?"

It sobbed harder, and suddenly she was so tired. She got up and left it behind. She had grown to love it so much she had forgotten they had not even known each other for a dozen days.

 

bemusement amuses some

but most are running.scared

to not know not understand

till at last.someone is laid bare

a need to absorb, a need to control

what is inside us, if not miasma galore?

 

Rank lay motionless on the sofa, eyes closed. A door opened and slammed. A man's voice yelled, "For god's sake, Spriz, if you're cheating on me at least be discreet about it!"

No one answered him, and Rank pushed himself up awkwardly. The man was taking off his shoes. He put his bag down and skipped over to where Rank was sitting. "I'm Andrei, who are you?" He demanded.

Rank opened his mouth quickly. "Sorry, sir—these guys they came and we had a fight and I had the worst of it, and my sister has left me and my head was paining and she always says if you get hit on the head and you faint afterwards, you can have a concussion, so you have to be very careful, and I don't know how to be very careful, and Spriz is the only one I can trust apart from my sister, but I know she's engaged, and I would never—" He broke off as the man chuckled, defiant in a split-second. "I am telling you there isn't nothing and you really should not laugh!" He struggled to get out of bed. "I'm leaving. Tell Spriz I was sorry to bother her." He said coldly. Between him and Andrei, in midair, there were three fuzzy black orbs.

He stepped toward the door and tripped over nothing. Andrei caught him before he fell. "Sorry, buddy. You got to stay right here."

Rank struggled. "Leave me be. I'm going to find Joe; she needs me."

"Ssh. It's okay. I'm sorry. I was kidding." The man easily lifted Rank and laid him on the sofa again. "Where is Spriz?"

"She went out to get painkillers for me." Rank said guiltily.

"That's okay. It's fine. What's your name?"

"Rank Gogol." Rank said. "Are you Spriz's fiancé?"

"Yeah. Andrei. I would say I am pleased to meet you, but since you were clearly alone with Spriz in my house for a long time, that would not be very truthful, strictly speaking. But I believe you, so pray tell me, why did you get into a fight with those men?"

Rank paused for a moment. He stared at the man. Then after examining the welt on his wrist for a second, he said, "I peddled until recently. Serious drugs. People don't really hand in resignation letters in that business. Caused a furore."

"Oh." The man said, poking Rank's forehead.

"What are you doing." Rank growled at him.

"Temperature." Andrei said calmly, poking Rank again, who sighed. "Spriz can do that when she comes back."

"Did she convince you to stop?"

"My sister left me. I had to stop if I wanted her to come back." Andrei nodded, his eyes wide. His hand flopped on the pillow next to Rank's face, who stared at it, bewildered.

The door opened at that moment, and Spriz came in. Andrei jumped away from Rank and glared at her. "Rank has been telling me how you proposed to him how you two should run away together." He said accusingly. Spriz ignored him completely, going inside. Andrei glared at the door for a moment, then sat down next to Rank's waist and poked his waist. Rank bit his lip. "Now what? How old are you, seven?"

"Do you still have any drugs?" Andrei demanded in a low voice.

Rank frowned. "No."

"I'm thirty two." Andrei informed him, then lay down on the sofa next to Rank and cuddled him. Rank cried out in pain and shoved him away, and Andrei sat up again, looking very hurt. "There is no way I'm giving. You drugs you are. High enough without. Them you suka, blyad! What the hell is? Wrong with you!" He gasped. Andrei had bumped his head against his, and he had a horrible migraine. Andrei had also hugged him around the waist, and a couple of guys had punched him quite, quite hard in the abdomen. He groaned again, shaking. Spriz came hurrying over to the two of them. "Andrei, there's one more couch. Can't you see he's in pain?"

"Humph." Andrei got up and dived onto the other sofa. Spriz handed Rank a pill and a glass of water. He swallowed them hurriedly. "What's wrong with him?" He asked Spriz slimily, trying to smirk. It would not come. "I can't smirk." He said fearfully.

"Good." Spriz snapped. "You leave him be. You're as bad as him. Now I've been in the bar seventeen hours straight yesterday, I'm going inside, I'm locking the door, and I'm going to bed. Wake Andrei if you need anything. No one comes to bother me for at least six hours—eight hours. Goodnight."

Rank sat up and stared at her as she left, then stared at the guy on the sofa opposite him, who was staring at him right back at him. "Quit staring." He snapped.

"You quit staring." Andrei snapped. "My students stare at me all day. I'm entitled to stare at people outside school."

"You're a teacher?" Rank asked incredulously. 

"I am too. I'm very formal and respectable in school. I even wear fake glasses. But then it tires me out so much, always censoring and acting all sane, I just chill out and do whatever I want to do outside." He grinned happily, and then as if to prove his point, blew Rank a kiss.

"Jeez." He said, turning on his side. The pill had just started working when Andrei spoke from behind him. "Hey boy, did you say your name is Gogol?"

"Don't call me boy." Rank muttered. "Rank Gogol. After Nikolai Gogol. Not related. Please let me sleep."

He felt someone poke his back from behind and sighed and turned on his back. "What is it, Mr...?"

"Anatoly. Andrei Anatoly. Your sister is my student. Joe Gogol. I'm going to find her address and tell you! And then you are going to love me! Yay!" Andrei jumped in the air and clapped his hands, and Rank could only stare.

 


	8. Inleadedspirits.

Frank could not sleep. He generally got at least three or four hours of sleep, but it was impossible for him to sleep now. He shoved his feet into his slippers and wandered over to his library. Gogol was lurking in the corner with Gorky and Bunin, and he pulled out 'The Nose'. He sat at the table for a while, but soon his back started aching and he had to go back to his bed. He read a couple of chapters in bed, then kept the book aside. She had called him, and she was coming over to his house! Frank could not conceive it. He was such a lucky man.

The next afternoon, in the cafe, there was nothing that could stop Frank from repeatedly glancing at the door to see if she had come. And so it happened that he saw her the moment she put her hand on the glass door. Their eyes met through it, and he knew immediately something was terribly wrong. She pushed the door open and came inside. Samantha was inside the kitchen, so Frank slammed his spectacles on the table and pulled her into his arms. She did not protest, and that in itself Frank took as a confirmation that something unspeakable had happened. After a moment he took a step back and asked furiously, "Are you alright? What happened?"

She shook her head pleadingly.

"Tell me." He squeezed her shoulders and shook her a little.

She shook her head again, her eyes glittering now with tears.

Frank let go of her in sudden panic. "Did you get mugged again?" His voice fell to a whisper. "Did you get groped?"

She made a final, violent gesture with her hands and suddenly she was sobbing. Frank uncertainly hugged her again. "Are you...what exactly..." Suddenly he hated himself. "Come to my house—stay with me. Please. Forever. I'll take care of you. You can have it after I die. There's no one else for me anyway. Please—there is really nothing else for me to do..." He felt her shake her head and ignored her altogether. "Let's take you to a doctor. Come on now." He let go of her, very gently wiped her tears. She did not look at him, her head bowed, her body trembling. 

He turned to call Samantha and found her standing by the kitchen door, staring at the two of them in shock and censure. The last thing he wanted was to let Joe see the face of that damn woman. He grabbed Samantha's arm and dragged her away. "Take this key. Lock up the cafe right away. Come tomorrow at six 'o'clock sharp with the key." Samantha nodded, glaring at him. He went back outside. Joe was nowhere to be seen. He felt panic jab at his heart before he heard quiet sobbing and realized she was sitting at a table. "Come." He put an arm lightly around her shoulders. "I'm sorry, my little darling girl. I'm so sorry." He kissed her hair just above her ear, and she sidled closer to him with a sob. "I'm going to take care of you, alright?"

 

in the river

in the crow

the water black

the tidal row

they die who speak

they live who sail

wind that carries

wind that fails

 

Rank's eyes flew open as the telephone rang. He pushed himself up, gasping. Maybe it was Andrei with news of Joe. The crazy man had promised in the morning to call as soon as he got the address. He had also spent some time mimicking good-naturedly the way Rank had been screaming in his sleep. Rank had not realized, but even if he had, he did not think he could have helped it. One of his old "friends" had owned a gun, which he had pressed against Rank's chest as he yelled at him, his finger caressing the trigger almost lovingly. Rank was not a coward, but he had felt his legs shake under him. Damn, he had almost pissed himself. They had been debating quite seriously whether to kill him or not, and all Rank had done was stand there and tremble. He really had not been capable of doing anything else. Rank grabbed the back of the sofa and pulled himself into a sitting position, gasping with pain. At that moment the bedroom door slammed open. It was Spriz. Rank relaxed and grinned. "Spriz, the phone is ringing!" He told her urgently.

"Oh, is it really." Spriz muttered darkly. "Hello...Yeah, he's here. What you want him for? Don't—Fine...Alright. Wait." Spriz held out the phone. "Andrei for you."

Rank shifted nervously. "Spriz, please could you bring it around here."

Spriz sighed and dragged the table with the phone closer to the sofa, and held the handset out to Rank.

"Hello? Is this Rank?"

"Yes." Rank said hastily.

"Hello, Rank, this is Mr. Anatoly. It is my lunch break now. I have found out what you wanted me to find. Are you feeling better now?"

Rank giggled nervously. "Yeah...Mr. Anatoly. Is someone there?"

"Where?"

"There, with you?"

"No, my dear, I'm calling from a cubicle near the library."

Huh. Rank suspiciously looked at Spriz, who was still standing in front of him, trying to stifle her laughter. "Okay, Mr. Anatoly."

"Can you move around yet?"

"Not yet, Mr. Anatoly. The bruises all got dark now."

"This is bad." The man sounded very serious. "We should go to the police."

"The police do not take homeless orphans seriously, Mr. Anatoly." Rank said, biting his left forefinger. Spriz glared at him. He ignored her.

Mr. Anatoly spoke on the line. "Nor poor school teachers, I'm afraid." Rank heard him sigh. "I suppose there is really nothing we can do."

"No." Rank agreed. "I will move out as soon as I'm able, Mr. Anatoly."

"Don't worry about it, bublik. Your sister's address is listed as ul. Lesnaya d. 5, kv. 176."

Rank sighed. "That's our old house. Mr. Anatoly, there will be someone else living there very soon, it's in my name, but those people don't care about that, you know. If she tries to go back there, I—I don't know what will happen."

There was silence on the line for a moment. "I'll find the new one, Rank. I'll find it soon."

"Yeah. Thanks." Rank laughed, though it hurt his stomach. "In any case, it's not like knowing right away would be of any use."

"Yeah." Andrei said huskily. "Hang on in there, Rank."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Pretty patina bag](https://www.wattpad.com/290934617-the-blanket%27s-paint-inleadedspirits) accompanies this chapter on wattpad AND it's upside down!


	9. Inanempyreaninlet.

Frank insisted on dropping her home. He said he would come back in the around seven to take her out for dinner and then over to his place, and there was a glint in his eye that kept her mouth shut. Joe was really tired. They had broken a bit of her, but the way the doctor had reacted; her freakish alarm and her shock and agitation had really gone a long way in convincing Joe that things were not really so bad. She unlocked the door of her apartment, glancing nervously over to the flats opposite. None of those guys were usually home at this time, but. She was scared. She closed the door and went inside.

She had not made the blanket any food in the morning. She had had some milk which was just beginning to curdle, but there hadn't been anything else to eat. She wondered if the blanket could cook. And if it had. Anyway, no one died if they didn't eat food for a day. Then she remembered it hadn't eaten anything last night or afternoon before that, either. And for breakfast, they had both just had bread and salt.

She took down a couple of boxes from on top of a cupboard. The cupboards were not worth taking anywhere; she had got them for almost nothing from a roadside vendor who had scavenged them from somewhere for literally nothing. It was just her clothes and vessels and food grains. Her school books, her notes, the newspaper-file containing her propiska and few other documents were always in her bag, anyway. She had never seen any of the blanket's documents. Maybe it had none. She only had an internal passport because a donor to the orphanage had gone to great lengths to obtain one for her on hearing her plans to give the USE. Maybe the blanket had never had that opportunity.

She realized she had finished packing already, and sighed. Clutching the packaged sweetbread Frank had given her, she pushed open the white door. She opened the bedroom door after knocking twice on it. Then she pushed it open. A very familiar stale smell hung in the curtained room. The sweetbread fell to the floor beside the door, and Joe almost ran over to the desk. There were four red paintings drying on the study and the floor around the table had been littered with wet red papers in almost every direction. A small eating bowl from the kitchen was drying as well, a few drops of water inside it. It had been used to heat something on the stove, she noted with growing apprehension. She seized the jar of red paint on the table and checked its packaging for the millionth time. A tube of watercolour next to it had been opened, however it was black. She gulped and looked at the first painting. One corner of the paper was torn, but the painting was clear and vivid, in black and red, a lily crumpled under the weight of a rock. She could not bear to look at the others. She went and knelt near the bed. "I'm sorry." There was a huge lump in her throat. "Come out. Please." She stretched out her hand and there was no response. She closed her hand around her blanket, almost recoiling at the dampness. Then she gently drew it out. The blanket moaned and shifted onto its side. Under the bed she could see dark stains where it had been resting and she could smell on it fresh the stale smell in the air. "What is wrong with you." She demanded of it quietly. It stirred and made a little gasping sound.

"I'm not mad at you anymore." She told it quietly. "I was never mad at you. I'm sorry."

The blanket shifted away and tried without avail to slither under the bed again. She did not let go of it, gripping it tightly. "Please take that thing off and let me see. You're still bleeding, aren't you?"

The blanket struggled weakly, and Joe sighed. "I'm not going to force you...to do anything." She lifted the blanket gently and carried it to the bed. Joe sat beside the blanket for a while, watching it tremble and try to burrow into the wall, cringing from her. She could taste in her mouth the acrid taste of hurt and resentment. She looked away, took a breath. She retrieved the sweetbread from near the door, and threw it as hard as she could at the blanket. Then she left the room and slammed the door.

 

BLOODY DANY came

again. Holler they rasp.

Horror they grasp. Bloody

DANY came again. 

 

"Hi Joe." Rank said softly as she opened the door. Her eyes went wide with shock and she was still for several moments before she sighed and slumped against the door. "Who did that to you?" Rank was about to reply when she spoke again, "Never mind. What do you want?"

Rank suddenly realized he had nothing to say. There was nothing he could say that his presence at her door had not told her already. Joe folded her arms in front of her chest, and he quickly opened his mouth. "I'm really sorry, Joe, I quit that job, and drugs, and I'm not drinking anymore either, I have—I'm going to change now." He waited breathlessly, but Joe did not speak, her face twisted in some anti-emotion. 

"Joe? I still love you so much, Joe. You mustn't stay alone, Joe, I know you won't believe me and I know you can take care of yourself, but it's not safe for a woman to live alone here. You won't believe me, but something terrible might happen one day, and do you hate living with me so much? I swear I'm going to change—" There was a sudden disturbance behind him, and Rank half turned, scared that Joe would quickly close the door while he was not looking at her. The door opposite Joe's had opened, and her neighbours stepped outside. They did not look like brothers, so they were probably renting it together. One of them spotted Rank, who smiled at him. The short blond-haired guy blinked at him for a moment, then poked his friend to get his attention and motioned to Rank. The second guy slammed the door and both of them turned to face Rank. Involuntarily, Rank straightened up.

The second man smirked suddenly and pressed his own doorbell. Rank waited stiffly, wondering why this was even happening. He briefly considered retreating into Joe's house and closing the door on these punks, but the guy directly in front of him smirked wider, and Rank gritted his teeth and hated himself for even considering it. The door opened again, and Rank took in the third man. When he caught sight of Rank he stepped outside almost angrily. He was wearing green shorts. "Who the fuck are you, bro?"

Rank realized they were Americans. He was not going to deign to reply to that beautiful sentence.

"Hey, hey, Timmy." The second man dramatically patted the shoulder of Timmy, who was the guy in shorts. "He's not going to stay here. He found himself here accidentally, I'm sure. He knows to stay away from that chick."

Rank glanced behind him but Joe was not standing in the doorway anymore. "Actually, I'm going to be hanging out here quite frequently. You don't seem to know, but 'that chick' happens to be the person who I love most in the entire world." Rank would have given anything in the world to be able to say that his sister felt the same way about him, but as he could no longer say that, he merely commented, "I wonder in what regard she holds you."

"I think right now it's far more important how we regard—what we feel about you." Timmy said, his face twisted in an ugly frown. Rank suddenly remembered a few guys from the orphanage who had cornered him rather similarly one day. There had been six of them, the big ones—the bullies, and Joe had just jumped in on his side like she was Illyana Rasputina. It was all Rank had managed to do to restrain her. She had even wanted to go after the bullies after they turned to leave, frustrated by her femininity. Rank knew Joe would have been standing there by his side if she could have, no matter how much she hated him.

He wondered who these people were, that they repulsed Joe so much. He held his coat away from his hips for just a moment so they could, each of them, see the baby gun in his right pocket. All three men reacted all at once; Timmy let out a frustrated groan, the second man raised his eyebrows, and the blonde frowned. They spent a long minute in silent deadlock before all three of them moved simultaneously. Timmy went back into his apartment, and the blonde grabbed the second by the arm and pulled him towards the stairs. He looked over his shoulder at Rank for a split-second, who was seized by the impulsive desire to stick out his tongue at him. Just one more thing to thank Mr. Anatoly for. 

He stepped inside Joe's house. She was standing right next to the door, leaning against the wall. She was holding her waist very tightly, but she let her arms fall to her sides when he closed the door and looked at her. "Friendly neighbours." He said curiously.

When she didn't reply, Rank looked around the room he was in. It was a small room, and it was supposed to be both living room and kitchen. Joe's moving box was lying open in the centre of the room. "Joe?" He asked nervously. "Where are you going?"

Joe shook her head sideways a couple of times, and Rank stepped towards her. "Hey, are you okay?"

She focused on him at once. "Why wouldn't I be okay? Don't hover like that." 

He stepped back at once, hurt. "Where are you going?"

"Away." She snapped.

Rank rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. "Can I sit down?"

She waved her hand uncaringly and he went to sit in the smelly armchair near the empty fireplace. He sighed with relief and closed his eyes for a moment.

"How did you make them go away?" Joe demanded, seating herself opposite him, on a stool. Rank sat up and took out his small pistol.

"Wow." His sister said, taking it carefully.

"Don't worry; it's not loaded." Rank said sheepishly.

Joe threw him a sharp look, and he hurried to explain. "Andrei got it for Spriz that's why it's so small and adorable, but then it was still too heavy for her to carry around, so he got her another one, and he gave this one to me, temporarily I mean, but he didn't trust me enough to give me any bullets."

"Sounds like a wise man." Joe said, experimentally pointing the gun at the table. She pulled the trigger gently. There was a clicking sound, and they both jumped. "Damn." Joe laughed breathlessly and set it down on the table. The smile faded as she looked at her brother. "Who are Andrei and Spriz?"

Rank couldn't control himself. "Joe, please, please don't go away—"

"Listen, I can't stay with you. I know I said it's not permanent, but this is much too soon."

"But I'm changing really fast! I gave everything up for you; I left that job—everyone was so furious and insane, they almost shot me, Joe!"

"What?" She demanded, sitting up straight.

"They almost did. They are the ones who did this to me when I told them I couldn't work for them anymore." He sniffled. "Please, Joe. I love you."

Joe sighed. Rank heard the frustration in it, and his eyes filled with tears. He blinked hard though; he knew Joe must not see. "Can we just talk about something else for a while?" Rank said hastily as she opened her mouth, trying his best not to sound plaintive.

Joe sighed once more, eyeing Rank thoughtfully. "Okay—well, I was going to go out right now..."

"But it's going to be night now." Rank said suspiciously.

Joe glared at him. "Yes. Night. Dinner. Friend. Problem?"

Rank shrugged, but they had a little glaring match before Joe glanced away and laughed. "Where could we stay, Rank?" She asked softly, under her breath.

Rank grinned happily; his eyes lit up. "We could rent another apartment. Till we find one, we could stay here?" As Joe shook her head vehemently, he said, "We could stay with Andrei and Spriz for a couple of nights. They wouldn't mind. They want to meet you, anyway."

Joe gave him a look. "Who are those people?"

He gave her a look right back. "Who were those people?"

Joe sighed and got up. "I'm going to go get ready."

Rank said, "Can I sleep till you're ready? I'll walk you down in case those guys are still there." He watched Joe's eyes widen. "What?"

"Noth—nothing. Whatever. Wait here."


	10. Inshallowrilles.

Andrei cut short his call as Spriz stepped inside. "She's home, I should go...Bye, bye Rankie!" As she looked at him, he smiled in welcome and gushed, "Hey! They met! Rank went over to her place and they talked for some time; apparently her place isn't very nice and there aren't very nice people about either; they were talking for some time, and she was receptive and laid back and snapped at him quite rarely, and she certainly didn't kick him out and talked about living together as well! They may stay over here for a while; I would love that so much; that would be so amazing except she's also my student so it may be a little weird because I'll have to be all teacher mode, but I can take her with me to school so that she won't have to take stinky public transport in the morning! You know, I didn't even give her class any homework today, just in case. But Rank also said she's gone to meet someone for dinner all dressed up, so he's a little scared about that, but she let him walk her down; he was calling from some community telephone. Isn't that weird? And the gun was useful, I told you so!"

Spriz's eyes had lit up and she nodded with satisfaction, holding her fist out to Andrei. He petulantly knocked his fist into hers. "Aren't you going to _say_ anything?"

Spriz sighed. "That's cool, honey. All of it. It's amazing."

Andrei sighed a little as well. "I made sandwiches, there are two for you. One's got–"

"Thanks, kotyonok." Spriz ruffled his hair gently as she walked into the kitchen, and he followed her quickly. "One's got–"

"Did you pay the bill I gave you yesterday?" Spriz asked, sitting at the table and eating half of one sandwich in a single bite.

Andrei bit his lip. "Yeah of course. I went to the bank after school, around five. I didn't know they closed at five-thirty, so I was actually lucky. I was home a little late than usual because of that. You're home early?"

Spriz nodded wordlessly, reaching for the second sandwich. "These are good."

Andrei folded his arms on the table and rested his chin on them. "So you don't have a problem with Rank and Joe comin—"

"No, of course not." She chewed. The ring on her hand caught the light, and she drew it off and stretched her fingers. "You have no idea how much this helps in the bar."

"Hmm. I gave him the address in detail; he may or may not call before coming over, okay? And mine helps too, more than you'd think. The management wanted a new assistant teacher for History, the guy who applied, he was a bachelor, lived alone, and then they found out he had a tattoo. Excellent qualifications, but they didn't hire him because he had a guy's name tattooed on his shoulder."

"Hmm." Spriz said in her turn, picking the crumbs of her plate. 

"What about Rank...Is he gay?" Andrei asked, examining his own ring. His was not fake, but it was just a plain gold band.

Spriz looked up suddenly. "I don't actually know. He's a child, though."

"Yeah. I know."

"Same age as your students."

"I know."

"And we're engaged."

"I know that too. It's our five year anniversary on Friday."

Spriz laughed at that. "Really? God knows how you remember."

"I remember everything." Andrei said soberly. "Remember that icky German who proposed to you?"

"Yeah! That creep. Kept coming around to the bar to ask why. I was so glad when I could flash the ring in his face and go, 'That's why, fucker!'" Spriz laughed sadly. "Rank is sweet."

"I'm sleepy." Andrei said, straightening up. 

"Yeah me too." She put her dish in the sink. "I'll wash these in the morning."

"Are you sure? I can help right now."

"Nah. I'm going to sleep nine hours straight for once." She washed her hands and headed to her room.

"Yeah okay. Bye." Andrei waited till she had closed the door of her room before pouring himself a cup of coffee and taking it into his own room. He had lots of things to write about.

 

beauty dying from

life itself not seeing

beauty be. cast alife

blast a life - could

seeing make it be?

 

Joe had not bolted the door from outside today. She had done it yesterday and the blanket had not been able to leave. It could go today. Maybe she wanted it to leave. It walked over to the desk and took out its old paintings, which were in huge brown envelope. Some of the new ones it had made after it met Joe had started to fade. In a week or so, it could paint on them again. The blanket put the new paintings carefully inside its folder. The knob twisted, and the blanket jumped. Someone was trying the door. Joe had said she would call out  when she came back, and only then to unlock the door. It had been half an hour since she left, too late to come back for something she had forgotten, and much too soon to come back from the dinner she had gone to, looking all pretty. The person outside was not Joe. The door shook and the blanket scrambled into the bed and covered itself hastily. Before it could hide under the bed, the door banged open. A man stood in the doorway. He was tall and lanky, rather like Joe, and he had her hair as well. "Does Joe know you are here?" He demanded, walking over to the bed and peering at the blanket. It nodded its head vigorously, but it had no way of knowing if the man noticed or realized. He was still staring and waiting. The blanket edged away from him. Suddenly he sat down on the bed, took his shoes off, and crossed his legs. "Can't you take that thing off? Don't be scared of me." He reached out for it, and the blanket cried out in terror, crawling away from him and finding itself against the wall. After a couple of minutes, it mustered the nerve to look over at the man who was forcibly sharing its bed, and found him still watching it curiously. "Aren't you wearing any clothes?" He demanded, and the blanket started to sob convulsively. Had Joe let him in on purpose? Did she hate it that much now?

The man froze. "Don't cry!" He sat up straight with a look of panic on his face. "Please don't cry! I promise I won't hurt you! I'm Rank, maybe Joe told you about me? I'm her brother; I'm really not going to hurt you!"

The blanket sniffled and looked at Joe's brother as he stared at it, wide-eyed. He seemed very nervous, and suddenly he started talking again, "You see, Joe—I mean I do care what you think of me, but right now I'm especially concerned what you tell Joe about me, because if you—I mean if she gets the impression that you don't like me, because she's extremely mad at me, and I've changed all right, but she doesn't believe me, so if you don't like me, and if she knows that, she'll leave me again. She didn't even go look at her stupid bank account, and if I tell her now she'll just hate me more for throwing that in her face, so—I mean she obviously cares about you, you're in her bedroom—I don't know–is she gay? Your voice is so high-pitched—I really have no clue what's going on!" He paused uncertainly. "Can't you please take that blanket off—I can't tell at all what you are thinking!" His voice was so pleading, and his face as well, and the blanket knew suddenly that this man was not going to force it to do anything. The man was waiting nervously. After a minute of silence he flushed. "Why are you scared of me." He complained under his breath. "Joe has seen you though, right? She's capable of letting a complete stranger stay with her in her apartment, but she hasn't, right? She knows what you look like?" He looked suspicious now. "That idiot." He muttered, glaring at the blanket as if it were its fault. "How old are you?"

The blanket shifted uneasily. The man had heard its voice already.

Rank sighed. "Oh, come back over here, at least."

The blanket moved away from the wall and curled into a ball near Joe's brother. It had not realized that Rank and Joe's brother were the same person.

"You get to stare at me _and_ know my name. That strikes me as unfair." He glanced away from the blanket around the room, and his eyes fell on the blanket's folder. "Can I see?"

The blanket sat up uneasily.

"Well, this is filling at the price!" Rank jumped up and grabbed the folder, then returned to the bed. "Now, you speak or I open this."

The blanket fidgeted with its hands.

Rank's shoulders slumped. "Okay, you don't care about it. Now that was dumb." He muttered under his breath, then opened the envelope. The blanket hurriedly reached out and snatched it away.

"Hey!" Rank smirked a little. "Give it back." He reached out and seized it and they had a mini tug-of-war before Rank tickled the blanket around the waist. He laughed as it yelped and let of the folder. "Well, it seems this folder _is_ important, after all. So well, I won't open it if you say, tell me your name?"

The blanket sighed, but really couldn't help smiling at how unlike Joe her brother was. It cleared its throat and whispered under its breath, "Vasily."

Rank heard. Uncertainly, he fingered the folder. "That's a boy's name."

The blanket felt giddy.

"Okay..." Rank said quickly. "How old are you?"

"Fifteen." The blanket whispered.

"What." Rank gaped. "You're a child! That's quite alright, then. I'm quite sure Joe isn't a paedophile."

The blanket scowled.

"Are you glaring at me?" Rank giggled. "I know you're glaring at me. What's in the folder?"

"Paintings." The blanket whispered again.

"Good paintings?" Rank demanded.

The blanket laughed under its breath; it was quite sure Rank could not hear. "Decent paintings." It whispered, taking the folder from Rank once again and sitting on it.

"Has Joe seen them?"

"Some."

"Why are you whispering?"

The blanket sighed. "My voice is ugly."

"It's like a girl's." Rank said indelicately. "Can I see your face?"

The blanket hugged itself.

"Paintings or face. No third option."

The blanket said quietly, "I'm sorry, but I have to leave now."

Rank's eyes narrowed. "Where? Damn, why is everyone walking out on me?"

"I don't know. Joe doesn't want me here anymore." The blanket stopped talking. It had not talked for so long. It could manage by not talking for some more time. It got up and clasped the folder to its chest, and waddled towards the door. It knew Rank was following it, but didn't look back. "Um, are you or are you not wearing anything under that?"

The blanket didn't reply, and the next moment Rank had jumped between it and the door. "I'm sorry, I'm not stopping you from leaving or anything, but I just had a horrible thought." 

The blanket waited. 

"What if Joe doesn't really want you to leave, and she thinks I made you go away? Besides it's really stupid of you to go outside wrapped in a blanket, you know that? You could just trip over it and fall; and then people would see you all naked, like in a funny movie."

The blanket sighed. "Even if I fell it would cover me, it's huge."

"Yeah I know right, where did you get it?" Rank demanded.

His attempt to change the subject was so pathetic that the blanket could only laugh. "Please let me leave." It said soberly.

Rank's face fell. "But you're so sweet, and I want to be friends with you! And I want to see your paintings. I'm sure Joe doesn't really want you to leave."

The blanket felt the dull ache at the bottom of its heart and it clutched the squishy sweetbread tighter in its hand. "She does." It tried to dash for the door, but Rank grabbed it. The blanket struggled, shoving at the youth's chest; the sweetbread and the folder slipped out of its hands. Rank's arms were suddenly tight around its waist and the blanket's things were caught between their bodies. "Sorry." Rank whispered gently, taking it back into Joe's room. "But Joe's all dramatic, you know, it's probably a misunderstanding. Besides she forgave me, so the argument can be made that she is the epitome of a forgiving soul."

"You don't understand." The blanket whimpered. "These men raped her. I didn't do anything. She was looking at me and begging me to help her, but I didn't." It felt Rank tense and sobbed harder. He was going to hate it too, now. He was going to hurt it. It could not stop crying as Rank threw it back onto the bed and stood beside the bed, towering over it. "What the fuck do you mean, those men raped her?"


	11. Intransitioningseams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, guys! Thanks for bearing with me and I really really hoped you liked my story, this is the first time I've put something out there for people to read, and if you can give me any criticism at all, I would love you forever. (This chapter has my favourite hazy, see if you like it <3 )

Joe had dressed up for supper, and Frank could really not keep his eyes off her. She looked so beautiful—she was the most beautiful woman in the restaurant. He would have liked to take her to his favourite restaurant, but he had deliberately picked a fine dining restaurant with a cosy, unintimidating ambience, but which was at the same time elite enough not to have prices on the menu.

Joe was wearing a demure pink dress that skimmed her knees. Frank loved how she still wore stockings underneath. They were old, black faded to grey, snug on her long, tapering legs. Her hair was loose. It rather looked like straw was growing out of her shoulders and neck, but Frank did not even notice that. 

He had reserved a corner table for them and he waited for Joe to indicate whether she wanted him to sit beside her or across. Joe grinned at him, and he realized she thought his old-fashioned gallantry was funny. With a good-natured sigh, he sat down next to her. She was even wearing perfume. Well, it was deodorant, but Frank decided on her it smelt just like Krasnaya Mosva.

He had not failed to notice how on edge she was, either. When they had met at the gate, she was empty handed, and he had asked her in surprise if she wanted his help getting her case/s down, but she had nervously said they could take her stuff on the way back. Frank had not realized immediately, but now it was so glaringly obvious that she had changed her mind. Frank watched her as she scraped the contents of the serving plate into her own and grinned unwillingly. At least whatever it was had not affected her appetite. He kept his fork down. The maître d' brought menus for them again, and Joe reluctantly kept hers down as well. "You can finish it after he goes away." Frank whispered discreetly, and Joe giggled. Frank smiled, gratified. He asked the maître d' for a recommendation for the main course, and nodded his approval. He turned to Joe. "What do you want?"

She looked at her half full plate, and Frank rolled his eyes. "Do you want another plate of that?" He asked Joe, who nodded sheepishly.

"And we'll have a repeat." Frank gestured to the appetizer, sure he was the first person to twist the order of the order in this restaurant for at least half a century. The maître d' nodded and smiled, unfazed. "Excellent choice, sir." He took their menus back and swept away.

"I embarrassed you now. They're not going to take you back in here." Joe said, only half joking. 

"Shush." He frowned at her. "I'm having the time of my life. I haven't had company for supper since my wife died." He watched her wince. "Just spit it out. Don't worry—I won't be mad."

She forked the last of the potato pie into her mouth and chewed tightly, her face flushed.

"It's fine, lastochka. You don't have to stay with me. I understand. It would not have been proper, anyway." Frank said quietly. His heart broke when Joe did not protest or even disagree. He picked up his fork and tried to clean the Remoulade sauce off his plate.

She shifted in her seat, trying to catch his eye. "Frank, it's my brother...I've been thinking about it, and I think it was wrong of me to leave him like that...Selfish and sort of cowardly, in a way..." She waited for him to say something, but Frank could not trust himself to speak just yet. "He found me in the morning and he was really...I don't know, sort of...I really missed him, Frank."

Frank nodded without looking at her. 

"I can get another job if you—"

"No." He broke in.

Joe paused. "But I don't know where we'll find an apartment, I'm sick of living in horrible places—"

"I'll find one for you. Close to my place. You don't have a problem with that, I hope." Frank tried to stem the bitterness that trickled into his voice. "I was going to move the cafe uptown, anyway. Something inspired by Café Pushkin. You ever been to Moscow?"

Joe shook her head. 

"We could go. For Christmas, maybe." He added after a beat, "Your brother could come. I don't—I don't—please don't leave me." His voice was calm. "I don't have anyone else." He teetered on the edge before cynicism brought him back. "I just need a friend."

"And you've got one." Joe leaned in and kissed his cheek. "I promise."

 

She woke now. 

Then to a roomful of blood. 

The blood was hers.

 Not hers in the making. 

(to wallow in the precinct)

She saved the husk. 

Failed to rust 

The blood was warm. 

It felt her up 

Her style she mocked.

Her shoes she bought.

Flowers they dried

 Lonely in pursuit.

 But the blood (was warm)

 

Rank steadied Vasily's hand before taping it up properly. The child's hand was smaller than half of Rank's; Rank's fingers _were_ eerily long. When he was growing up, loads of people had told him to learn the piano. Maybe he could still start learning. 

He looked up at Vasily, who looked away immediately, refusing to make eye-contact. However, Rank still knew that Vasily's eyes were wide with trepidation. His hair was the same shade of brown as his eyes, gushing down to his waist in long tangles. His face was flushed with fear. Rank could understand why. He had told and told Vasily to wear proper clothes if he wanted to help. He had not needed help with Timmy, who had been alone and distracted. The other two men, when they came back home, had almost subdued Rank before Vasily gatecrashed the fight with a tube light. He had swung it into the back of the blonde's head, probably saving Rank's life. The blonde had weakly tried to grab hold of Vasily, but he only grabbed the blanket, and took it down with him. Rank was glad that Vasily had at least worn the shirt that he had left for the boy, but he could still see that his new male friend had deep curves and breasts. Rank hated himself for what had slipped out of his mouth. "I was thinking creepy epicene, and I was right. When I keep a shirt and pants, you wear both, understand?" Vasily had hurriedly dived for the blanket and started to shake the glass out of it. "No wonder your voice sounds weird, your male voice is breaking into a female voice. What hormonal putanitsa." Rank muttered, scared and repulsed. Vasily had stumbled away from Rank, his blanket wrapped around his lower body and held tightly at his bosom. "I can't believe you let Joe take you in without..." Rank had suddenly noticed that Vasily's hands were bleeding, and without further discussion he drew the boy back to Joe's apartment and made him hold it under the tap. After taking the glass shards out with a safety pin, Rank was taping it up for him. And now Vasily was scared of him. His whole body was trembling.

Rank held on to Vasily's wrist after he was done. "You okay?"

Vasily nodded hurriedly, shifting on the bed, clearly anxious to get away.

"I'm sorry about what I said." Rank said mournfully, trying to catch Vasily's eye. 

Vasily frowned, meeting Rank's eyes for the first time since the tube light debacle.

"I didn't mean it, you know, it just sort of slipped out. And I'm not very good with creepy things like this, but then I love you already, so please not hate me. And don't be scared of me and not look at me. Please?"

Vasily nodded again, slower this time. Rank ruffled the boy's hair with his free hand. "You're going to stay with us okay. We're going to rent a small apartment somewhere, and you're going to be our third sibling. Unless you're in love with Joe, but that's not allowed so you better get over it, because she's like way older than you. Understand?"

Vasily nodded, smiling a little now.

Rank nodded, relieved. "Okay so I'll just check the rest of your arm." He reached for the sleeve of Joe's shirt. Vasily made a violent movement at the same time; the sleeve torn clean off. Rank cried out and grabbed Vasily's wrist again. Vasily stifled a moan and shut his eyes. There were three long, deep cuts on his arm—a blotchy sangria.

"Whoever did that to you?" Rank gasped.

Vasily opened his eyes and straightened up. Then he said quickly, in one breath, "A guy after I ran away from home and was living near the dustbin."

"Living near the dustbin." Rank said in disbelief.

Vasily relaxed. "Yes."

"Well—that's horrible. You poor thing." He reached across and hugged the boy as formally as he would hug a random woman, but Vasily didn't mind. He gratefully and guiltily hugged Rank back.

Rank straightened up immediately. "So listen, I'm going to go back now, you stay here, okay? Don't leave this place. I'm sure Joe will hide you, but if the police find you, lie. You heard a noise but didn't think it was anything out of the ordinary."

"What?" The boy demanded, grabbing Rank's shoulders.

"The police—"

"Why would we wait here for the police? You would get arrested!"

"What are you saying, we run? I'm a coward, yes, but I would not do that to Joe! We have already got her into huge trouble."

"Do what to Joe?"

"She rented the house, you stupid, her name must be everywhere. She lives in front of them and moved here a short while ago; she'll be the first person they come for!"

"But she didn't give her name." Vasily said quickly. "Not her real name. Some other name. Tess."

"Oh." Rank was silent for a moment.

Then Vasily spoke bitterly. "Let's kill them."

Rank looked at him, startled. "You do it if you want. I can't kill anyone."

Vasily looked at him blankly. "I can't kill anyone either."

"Then who else is here, dummy!"

"It's just something you say!" Vasily snapped right back.

"Let's just take all their money?" Rank suggested.

"We can't steal!"

"Yes, we can."

"No, this was revenge. We can't steal when we're taking revenge; that's ugly." Vasily said.

"You do what I say, or I'll lock you in the bathroom with them!"

"I'll knock you out with a tube light." The kid muttered under his breath. Then grimaced. "Can you not tell Joe...about...you know..."

"That you're a creepy epicene?"

Vasily frowned. "Yeah."

"Well she's going to see anyway, because your blanket is going to stay here. And we are going to leave." Rank jumped off the bed and pulled Vasily up as well, then grabbed the blanket and tossed it away. Vasily squealed. "What are you doing!"

"Nothing I haven't seen before. You have a dick and an ass. Get over yourself." Rank rummaged through Joe's clothes found some unembroidered, sexless leggings. Vasily hesitated. "What about boxers?"

"The only boxers in this house are the ones I'm wearing right now. So unless you want to go across to our neighbor's house and borrow—"

Vasily was already wriggling into the ugly pants.

Rank smirked. "I can smirk again thanks to you, baby."

"What?"

"Nothing. Now move!"

Half an hour later, they were done with everything. They had packed the whole house into Joe's big box, and two polythene bags they had found. Vasily was under his blanket once again, and Rank glared at him. "Doofus, Joe's date will be there, if you prance around in front of him wearing that blanket of yours...Well, I don't know what will happen but it won't be good."

He went to the room to check nothing was left behind and when he came back the room was empty. Panic seared through him. "Vasily!?" He ran to the door and threw it open. He was about to run out, when he heard the boy giggle. Rank sighed as he opened the flap of the box and found Vasily sitting inside, curled up, with Joe's stuff piled on his lap. "What are you doing?"

"Not prancing?" Vasily said almost cheekily. 

"Get out!"

"Please?" Vasily said, suddenly sombre, his arms tightening around his blanket and his folder.

"Jesus, fine!" Rank shook his head, grinning despite himself. 

He took the box down first, set it down near the gate and went back for the polythene bags. He left the key on the doormat.

A little black Volga pulled up at the curb just when he reached the gate. Joe stepped out, looking at him with wide eyes. "Um, hey!" said Rank, grinding his teeth.

She looked worried. "Why have you gotten all my stuff down?"

Rank was about to reply when the driver of the car stepped out as well. He was an old man, all white hair and ancient clothing. "You must be Rank." He said smilingly. 

"Yes, sir." Rank said quickly. "It is very nice to meet you." He stared at the man for a moment, then looked back at Joe. "Andrei is expecting us, so I thought I'd go ahead and finish packing."

"No, but—" Joe stuttered; Rank could feel her start to panic. He grabbed her arm. "Don't worry, I got all your stuff!" She frowned, and he added quickly, "I've got the...Your blanket? The dark one...The paint—paint thing?" As her eyes widened, he quickly added, "It's in the big box."

"Well come on then, I'll give you a lift." Frank said as Joe relaxed a little, though her eyes were still confused.

"Um." said Rank, but Joe said clearly, "We can take the metro, Frank, look, there's so much stuff."

"Exactly why you should travel by car." Frank rolled his eyes. He retrieved his key and opened up the boot. "Go on then." He gestured to Rank, who looked at Joe. She sighed and nodded. Rank gently put the box in the boot.

The ride down to Spriz's house was quiet. When they reached, Rank jumped out and started to unload their things. Joe did not move from her seat. Frank turned to face her. "I'll give you some time to get settled—"

"We can go tomorrow. To look for an apartment and the shop for the cafe."

"Maybe day after. Tomorrow I have to go get some guys arrested." Frank smiled a little at her astonished look. "People know me in this town." Before she could protest, he went on. "Your brother is going to help me set up the cafe once we find the place. You can tell him that from me."

Joe smiled. "Okay."

He smiled back. "Go help him with the things. I will come for you day after tomorrow, at ten. You can come if you like." He added, twisting in his chair to face Rank, who had been eavesdropping rather brazenly. The youth nodded sheepishly. Joe got out and crossed over to the sidewalk. She waved at the car till it had disappeared. Rank opened his mouth immediately. "Why didn't you tell me your date was eighty years old? I wouldn't have gotten freaked out."

"He's not eighty, only seventy-two. And shouldn't you get more freaked out if he's eighty? "

Rank scowled and blushed.

The worry spilled out of Joe all at once. "What happened with the blanket? How did you guys—what happened exactly?"

Rank shook his head. "It's a long story. But anyway, I'm friends with him now!"

"Him." Joe said dubiously.

"Yup!" Rank said happily. Then he looked at the box and sighed. "Those two live on the ninth floor." 

"Well, let's go." Joe gathered the bags into her arms. Rank kicked the box before lifting it up. "Heavy hermaphrodite." He muttered, and there was an answering mutter from within. Joe shook her head in disbelief and smiled a little. There was a suspicious looking elevator, and they decided unanimously to take the stairs. Rank's shirt was damp with sweat by the time they reached the ninth floor. He set it down immediately. Andrei opened the door and pounced on Rank, hugging him tightly for a minute before he realized Joe was gaping at them. He took an uncertain step away. Rank started to introduce them, then stopped in confusion, his arm still around Andrei's shoulders. "Joe, this is Andrei...um."

"Hello, my dear." Mr. Anatoly said. He stepped forward to shake her hand. Joe shook it dazedly; it was moist with Rank's sweat. Rank had stepped away to pick the box up. Andrei opened the door wide in welcome. "Well, come in! I made sandwiches for you all!"

 


	12. Epilogue_Indriftwood.

Spriz settled into an armchair facing Anatoly, who was sitting on the sofa with Rank. She asked the impatient youth, "When is she coming?"

"She should have been here an hour ago." Rank said, both his feet tapping the floor in tandem. "Maybe some complication came up with his condition...I don't know."

Spriz nodded worriedly.

Anatoly shifted uncomfortably. "She must be a little happy because of the results, though, right?"

Rank shrugged. "I called her in the afternoon to tell her her results after you told me, but we only got a moment to talk. We talked last night; but she was more worried about Frank than her results. She was pretty confident about the results; I mean I'm sure she didn't expect to come in the top ten—"

Andrei interrupted, smiling widely. "Well, I did! I knew the very first time she told me she was going to give the USE that she would get a first-class, at the very least."

"She says it's all thanks to you." Rank squeezed Andrei's shoulder, who looked at him in surprise. "When did she say that?"

Rank flushed. "Well she didn't say it to me exactly, but I'm sure she's thinking it."

Spriz rolled her eyes. "Where's Vasilisa?"

Rank got up reluctantly. "Inside. He won't come out till Joe comes. I'll go try to get him anyway."

Rank left the room, and there was an awkward silence. 

"So where are you staying now?"

"In the bar. In a room on the second floor. Got it cleaned up for myself." Spriz said cheerfully. "What's up with you?"

"I'm great." Andrei gulped down his whiskey. The silence was broken a couple of minutes later by the doorbell, and Rank came running out. He opened the door, and Joe stepped in, looking tired. No one joked about the host being late for her own party, because it was clear that she was completely drained. She greeted everyone and excused herself to freshen up. When she came outside again, Vasily was hiding behind her. They moved to the table; Rank grabbed Vasily as he walked by him. "No more hiding behind Joe—girls on this side, guys on this side." He said, smirking.

Spriz cleared her throat.

Vasily frowned, but let himself be shepherded with Andrei to one side of the table. Spriz and Joe exchanged glances and sat down facing them. Joe reported quietly, "He's worse. They made him sign his will." There was a moment of silence, then Rank said, "I can go stay with him tonight, if you want."

"Nah...I'd rather...I'd rather go myself. I should probably stay with him more now. I'm really sorry I'm late, by the way. I told him about my results; I wanted to celebrate with him as well. He was so happy about my literature mark...I don't know why he...didn't let me sign as witness." Joe said. 

Spriz's eyes widened, but she didn't blurt her epiphany out. Instead she said gently, "We are all proud of you baby. You don't have to leave his side, we'll take charge of the cafe for a couple of days. The bar is closed in the afternoons, I'll go and sit in the cafe."

"I'm free in the evening?" Anatoly offered uncertainly.

"Rank's always there in the evenings." Joe said gratefully. "But you wouldn't mind joining him, I guess." She grinned, and Rank grinned back at her. She looked at the youngest person in the group. "What about the morning?" Vasily met her eyes but did not speak. The once ugly voice was girlishly graceful now, but still it wasn't used much.

"You don't have to do anything, you know. You just have to sit there and make sure everyone is working. They'll let you have free food." Joe said encouragingly. When that did not get a reaction, she shifted seamlessly to emotional blackmail. "I really need to stay with Frank right now. I am going to stay the night with him in the hospital; it would be really inconvenient for me to come here, go to the cafe, and then come back here." She paused, and Spriz backed her up at once; "You can't hide in here forever."

Tawny brown eyes shifted to the door, and beyond. When Vasily looked back at Joe, she smiled with satisfaction. "That's the spirit! You look really pretty, by the way."

The androgyne flushed, nervously fingering the blue linen of Joe's blouse.

"Rank will take you to the cafe on his way to work." Joe promised, and Rank looked up from his iced kompot. "Andrei and I are going to watch a movie, and I was going to stay at his place afterwards." He said indignantly.

"Then how will Vasily go to the cafe?" Joe demanded of her brother, exasperated.

"He can go by himself! He's not a child anymore." Rank shrugged.

Vasily bit his lip, and Mr. Anatoly reached out to put an arm around his shoulder. "She can come with us." Mr. Anatoly cajoled. "She won't bother us."

"We'll have to watch a children's movie." Rank grumbled. "And he's not a she!"

"There's no need for the two of you to watch blue movies, anyway." Spriz adroitly took the helm of the conversation. Joe burst out laughing. Even Vasily smiled a little and Mr. Anatoly frowned at him. "Whose side are you on?"

Rank hurriedly changed the subject. "Do you remember your history teacher from school, Joe? I was cleaning your old classroom yesterday, and she asked my name and she guessed that I was your brother. She was a little taken aback that I had a cleaning job at first, but then I explained that you had gotten a scholarship. Then she calmed down and was praising Andrei for helping me get a job. She came up to me again today, and she gave me a donut to give you because she had heard about your marks. But I ate it."

Joe glared at him. "I'm going to tell her, just you wait."

"Blah blah. I told her I knew you as well, blackie." Rank said sullenly, without looking at Vasily.

Joe kicked Rank under the table. "I told you and told you not to call him blackie!"

"Ow! He _is_ black! What do you want me to call him—a negro?"

Joe kicked his chair so hard that it toppled to the floor, taking Rank with it. Vasily giggled. Anatoly looked at his new student and winked. "Maybe we should go without him."

"Yeah." Vasily whispered. "He's stupid."

"I know right!" Andrei agreed at once.

Rank glared at both of them as he seated himself.

"I told him to try to give the USE externally, but he won't listen." Vasily said quietly to Mr. Anatoly, but the whole table was listening to the lilting, hesitant words.

Mr. Anatoly paused. "That's actually a very good idea. I'll try to get an application. And from today, he can sit with us when we're studying."

Vasily nodded happily. "Go get the cake." He muttered to Rank, who thumbed his nose at him before stomping off.

"You got a cake." Joe said dreamily. "Please tell me it's red velvet."

Vasily nodded his head again, vigorously, and his ponytail bobbed. Joe smiled at him. "Thanks, baby."

"No problem." He whispered.

"Did you tell Joe about your landscape?" Andrei demanded.

Vasily shook his head, flushing.

"Did you win?" Spriz asked.

"Not only did he win, but his art teacher also submitted it to some art magazine."

Vasily made a face. "I don't like landscapes."

"Only because they're not red." Rank scoffed as he came in the cake. He put it down in front of Joe, who grabbed the knife from his other hand. "Can I cut it?" She demanded eagerly.

"Yeah!" Andrei said, jumping to his feet. There was a chorus of felicitations. Rank shoved a huge piece of cake into his sister's mouth and she grabbed him, hugging him so hard that he gasped. Then his arms wrapped around her waist and he laughed into her hair. "I love you, drakonchik."

 

"I'll give you a blue silk kokoshnik if you get good marks in your exams, like Joe." Mr. Anatoly said suddenly to Vasily. Rank and Vasily had brought out the rest of the food, and they were all eating.

Vasily suddenly thought of a horrible thing. "Do I have to go the school to give my exams?"

"Yes, of course, Vasilisa." Mr. Anatoly shrugged. "Now don't back out, I've already spent a year convincing you to continue studying."

Vasily paled. "And what do I wear?"

"The uniform, obviously. Don't ask stupid questions."

"Aren't you the one who's always saying no questions are stupid?" Joe grinned.

"Don't mock your teacher." Andrei scolded her, eyes twinkling.

Vasily pulled on his neighbor's sleeve for his attention. "Mr. Anatoly, whose uniform..." He looked close to tears.

Anatoly smiled, unfazed. "How can we tell you that, milaya?"

Rank wrapped an arm around Vasily's thin waist. "Don't cry, all that stupid mascara will go away."

"Rank, it's waterproof, and Andrei, you totally told her, you idiot." Spriz said with a sigh.

Joe took another hungry bite from the plate of zakuski in front of her, grinning at Spriz's exasperation; her eyes were miserably dark. Frank was never far from her mind. 

Anatoly stared. "What, how?"

"I have really not missed this, ex-fiancée." Spriz snapped.

Rank flushed, and Andrei frowned at Spriz. "Anyway, dushka," He said to Vasily, "The way you look is easily changed. The way you feel is important. The way others address you is...oh um. Not important." He flushed but continued nevertheless. "The only thing that matters is what you think."

 

Half an hour later, Rank gathered the dirty plates and went into the kitchen. Joe had left as soon as the dinner was over, and Andrei was helping Vasily pack for his first night out. Spriz was inside, rinsing some dishes, and he tapped her on the shoulder. "I'm sorry, you know." He shifted his weight from foot to foot, his face sheepish and sad.

Spriz touched his cheek tenderly with her wet hand. "I was kidding out there. It was a tasteless joke. I'm sorry. And you really have no reason to be sorry; you two are extremely weird together and definitely not made for each other, but if you think you want to try it out...Well." Her voice shook a littleand she shrugged.

"Move back in." Rank burst out, then hastily shook his head sideways and tried again. "Sorry, uh, please would you...consider moving back in with Anatoly...and me? I mean, I'm not there all the time, and even when I am, we're not lovey-dovey or anything, and we're quite quiet in bed—"

"Shut up." Spriz frowned and chuckled at the same time.

"Move back with us. We both love you, you know." He hugged her all at once. "You pour vodka better than anyone else I know."

"Jesus, Rank, don't you tell me you've started drinking again!"

"Haven't, _momma_." He sneered at her, gripping both her shoulders and shaking her. "Pretty please?"

"Andrei won't like it." Spriz said fearfully.

"Dude, he asked me to ask you!" Rank shook her harder. "Please, please, please."

Spriz laughed. "Okay, _dude_."

"Yay! Look what he taught me to do." Rank took a deep breath and wiggled his eyebrows with intense concentration.

Spriz burst out laughing. "Born to teach, that fellow."

Rank wiggled his left eyebrow only. "Are we happy?"

"Yes, pochemuchka. We're happy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I love you guys T.T <3


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